


The King Takes the Queen

by theparadoxicalfox, TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [22]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Childbirth, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Kidnapping, Property Damage, Russian, labor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadoxicalfox/pseuds/theparadoxicalfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: Sophie just wants to see PJ, but her bodyguard is in labor, and someone else has a different plan.





	The King Takes the Queen

_ Sunday, May 4, 1924 _

PJ was supposed to visit today.

Sophie was excited for that, absolutely, but she was also very concerned. Jordan was bringing him, and would be replacing Mary as her bodyguard for the next few days, but she wasn’t sure if Mary could even be moved at this point.

Neither of them had gotten much sleep—Mary dealing with the pain of labor (why in the world had PJ and Kjellberg thought it was a good idea for a  _ very _ pregnant woman to be Sophie’s main bodyguard?) and Sophie had been up all night with her for company.

“I called Molly,” Sophie reported, taking a seat in the living room and settling to watch Mary’s pained expressions. “She’s sending Minx over again.”

Mary nodded.

Sophie leaned back in her seat and let her mind wander. She’d been here for four months now, and she’d gotten to know the house quite well. It was fairly large—certainly larger than she needed by herself—and definitely fancy. It had been generous of Kjellberg to stick her here, though she hadn’t the slightest idea why he had an entire extra house just lying around.

Rich people.

How long was it until someone arrived? Sophie glanced at the grandfather clock, only to realize it was still only five thirty in the morning. Minx would arrive decently soon, but PJ wouldn’t even be awake yet for another several hours, much less be here to spend some of their precious time together.

At least she and Mary could watch the sunrise.

Sophie moved over to the large window and pulled the curtains aside, allowing the rich sunrise colors to flood the room.

And there, passing by right outside the window, was a man in a trenchcoat and hat, his face obscured in shadow- and heavy-duty semi-automatic rifle at the ready.

Sophie yanked the curtains closed and ran to Mary, grabbing her and yanking her up.

“No-” Mary swore. “Just hide. I’ll deal with them.”

“And what about your baby?” Sophie demanded. “They’ll hurt them too.”

Mary took a deep breath, then said, “We’ll both hide.”

“I’ll call Jordan—it’s an emergency, after all.”

Mary nodded, and then they were moving.

The moments it took to get connected to Jordan’s number, then the even longer minute it took him to actually pick up, were torturous.

“Hello?” Jordan was still clearly drowsy—not surprising, considering he’d probably been asleep.

“Jordan- it’s bad.”

Someone banged on the door, and rough Russian could clearly be heard.

“What? Sophie?”

“Please, Mir’s men are here.”

Jordan cursed.

“I’ll get people there as soon as possible. Just... hang on, okay?”

“We’ll try.”

“Hide, Sophie. Hide.”

Sophie didn’t want to hide; she wanted to fight these people who thought they could just ruin her life—but she didn’t have the training, and they had guns.

So she just hung up—there was another bang at the door—and darted upstairs to the room Mary had been sure to fortify.

Mary managed to get herself up the stairs and into the room, so Sophie closed the door, bolted it, and blocked it.

“I am so ready,” Mary panted as she settled on the bed, “to have this baby.”

“Yes, you just focus on having that baby and staying alive.” Sophie wrung her hands together. “What do you need me to do?”

Mary bit off a scream, clearly trying to keep quiet. “Just- keep an ear out. They’ll be here soon.”

Sophie nodded and settled next to the door, listening.

Within seconds, the unmistakable sound of the front door splintering from force, wood shrieking, reached Sophie.

“They’re inside.”

An audible click, and Sophie glanced over her shoulder to see Mary loading her pistol. Some part of her wanted to protest that that wasn’t necessary, but she knew it was. They needed every tool they had, trapped on the second floor and gun-toting men coming for them.

For  _ her _ .

They were coming for her.

Russian words were shouted, and Sophie flinched away from the door, only to see Mary putting a reload of her ammo next to her on the bed.

Heavy boots and thudding footsteps echoed throughout the empty halls, and the grumbling of men grew ever closer.

It wouldn’t be long before they found the room and knocked down the barricade. It certainly sounded like they had enough men for that.

One by one, the doors in the halls splintered and slammed open, getting closer and closer each time.

A body slammed against the door, making Sophie flinch away, and a slew of Russian sounded.

There was a tiny explosion as the lock was shot out.

Then the door handle wiggled, and the door slowly began pressing against the barricade.

Sophie scrambled back to Mary.

The door spilled open all at once with a screech of furniture against the floor, revealing easily a dozen men, all armed heavily.

Mary started shooting.

The first two men through the door fell to the ground. A third slumped back as the rest scrambled out into the relative safety of the hall. Sophie stared wide-eyed as Mary, her hand white-knuckled around the gun, aimed at the wall—then shot  _ through _ it.

The plaster shattered into a cloud of white dust, and muffled curses and a shuffling of boots could be heard after the unmistakable  _ thud _ of a body sounded.

A man called out in Russian, then everything was quiet. Sophie held her breath, strained to hear something,  _ anything _ —but it was useless. Mary was gasping, drawing in deep lungfuls of air, one fist twisted up in the bedsheets while the other aimed the pistol at the doorway.

Wait- had that been the scuff of a boot? The whisper of material shifting?

Sophie shrank further back into her corner as figures stepped into view.

How many men were there in the doorframe? Six? Seven? More? Far too many, for sure.

Mary’s fingers tightened on the gun, and one of the men tensed, moving at her.

Sophie moved without thinking, even as two gunshots rang out simultaneously.

Pain erupted in her arm, and she crashed into the chest at the foot of the bed.

_ “Sophie!” _

Mary’s voice seemed so far away for a moment, though it was undeniably close, and then rough hands grabbed her and yanked her forward.

Instinctively, she kicked.

A man cursed, and she was released only to fall backwards.

She spared a glance at her arm—it hurt enough for a glance—only to blanch and look away. It was a bloody mess, and one she didn’t particularly want to look at any more than she had to.

And, as it turned out, getting shot in the arm hurt.

A lot.

“Look,” one of the men said, stepping forward and training a gun on Mary, “let’s make this easy.”

All of the other guns followed suit; Mary let her pistol drop to her side and her head drop to her pillow.

“All we want is you, Ms. Newton. Come with us, we’ll leave her- them- uh...” The man squinted at Mary. “Whichever it is at this point in time. We’ll leave them alone.” He shrugged. “And if you don’t come, well...”

He moved his finger to the trigger.

Sophie grabbed at her arm, at the hole-  _ the bullet had made a hole in her arm _ \- and scowled angrily at the man.

“What a man you are, thinking that’s a fair trade.”

She just had to stall. Stall, until Jordan got here.

The logical part of her mind pointed out he probably wasn’t going to arrive in time, even if he broke every traffic law in existence. These men wouldn’t have to try too hard to wrestle her out of the house. Shock and steady blood loss was making her dizzy—maybe all they’d have to do is wait for her to faint.

She was going to try anyway. She’d fight against the nausea, the shakiness, and the fear gnawing a hole in her gut.

Minx, she suddenly realized.  _ Minx _ was arriving soon, too. And she was a Faceless; surely she could help.

Right?

The man shrugged and lifted his gun fully, and Sophie stepped between it and Mary.

This was the second time she'd stepped between someone with a gun and someone in need of protecting.

She didn't imagine PJ would be any happier about this one, though.

For almost a full minute, the men just stared at her, and Mary gasped for air behind Sophie, clearly in pain.

Then Mary screamed and all the men flinched away.

“Choose!” The man demanded, jabbing his gun in Sophie's direction.

“I-” Sophie dropped her hand off her arm—a desperate attempt to buy them more time—and cried out with pain. The sudden bleeding weakened her legs, and it took everything to stay on her feet.

The unmistakable sound of a very familiar car screeching to a stop reached the room.

Instantly, panicked Russian spread throughout the men, and Sophie shakily seated herself on the chest, pressing her hand once again to the wound.

Sophie could feel her lips stretch into a small smile. She wasn’t quite sure why she was smiling; this was anything but an amusing situation. Here she was, bleeding out, sitting next to a woman deep in labor, as half a dozen Russian mob gunmen left to kill her friend.

She wasn’t certain Jordan could get out of it alive.

She must have been drifting off—her hand was much wetter and warmer with her own blood than she remembered—because it seemed only the next moment the two remaining men each had a grip on an arm and were hauling her out of the room. Away from Mary.

Mary, who was screaming in pain, and, Sophie imagined, a fair amount of anger.

She struggled, wiggled, tried to free herself from the hands grabbing her and dragging her, but she wasn’t strong enough. The grasp on her left arm was too tight, and her right was in too much pain to even consider tearing it free.

Fingers raked into her hair and forced her head down, effectively keeping her from struggling without even more pain.

The men dragged her past the first staircase, and though she couldn’t see the ground floor, she could hear Jordan’s curses and struggles quite clearly.

Jordan, no.

Sophie wanted to cry out, to let him know what was happening, let him know she was here- but the words wouldn’t come out.

When she managed to pry her eyes open again, her feet slammed loosely into a step then onto a cobbled footpath before she was being dragged again.

_ No. _

She managed to lift her head, only to realize the men were dragging her towards an unfamiliar car.

She struggled again—but slumped, exhausted, long before she’d made any sort of progress at all.

One of the men said something in Russian, and the other laughed.

Then one opened the back door and she was shoved in.

She tried to push herself up—if she could only crawl out of the car—but her arms gave out and she crumpled into the seat.

\-----

The morning sun was warm, and the air nice and crisp.

PJ hummed happily. He loved the days when he got to see Sophie anyway, but when the weather was so perfect, it was even better.

Jordan hadn’t been at the headquarters that morning to escort PJ, but that just meant he was already at Sophie’s safehouse, making sure nobody suspicious was parked nearby, and nothing odd had happened since his last visit.

Ah, well, it wouldn’t be long before PJ arrived. Then he could listen to Jordan’s report for a few minutes, and finally spend time with Sophie again.

Except, when he got close to the safehouse, there were  _ far _ too many vehicles nearby.

The only one he recognized was Jordan’s. And even that one- it was parked like he’d jumped out before it had come to a full stop. But he wouldn’t do that; Jordan would never risk his car like that.

...Not unless it was an emergency.

PJ cursed and reached for his pistol. Something was definitely wrong, and he needed to be prepared.

He could only hope Sophie was alright.

That in mind, and pistol loaded and ready to fire, PJ ran up to the house.

The door was hanging off its hinges (Felix was going to charge him an arm and a leg for the repairs, wasn’t he), and immediately upon entering PJ saw a body sprawled in the front room.

Several bodies, actually.

Fear was clawing its way into PJ’s heart. He shifted his grip on his pistol, and strained to hear any sign of living intruders.

In the hall, next to the stairs, were another bunch of bodies—and a lot of blood. As he got closer, it became obvious that (while there were very big guns next to the bodies) they hadn’t been killed by a gunshot.

No. It looked like they’d been stabbed.

PJ’s frown deepened when he found Jordan’s pistol—or at least one that looked like it—at the foot of the stairs.

A woman’s scream tore through the house, and PJ’s head snapped up. That had come from upstairs.

Sophie.

_ Sophie. _

PJ took the stairs three at a time, trying to brace himself for whatever could have caused Sophie to scream like that. Was she hurt? Was she trying to get his attention? Was it something else altogether?

PJ came to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. He looked down the hall and spotted Jordan sitting against the wall, arm held tightly to his side.

Jordan didn’t look so pretty.

“Hey,” Jordan said as PJ walked up. “You’re not going to like this.”

PJ crouched next to him. Now he could distinctly see Jordan’s torn lip; the thin cut over his cheekbone leaked blood.

“What happened?”

“Sophie’s gone.”

PJ shot to his feet and cursed, whirling to try to find something to kick. He thought better of it quickly, but tightening his fists did nothing to ease the anger and fear coursing through him.

“Who screamed, then?”

“Mrs. Morrison. She’s in labor.” Jordan winced as Mary screamed again.

“Do you know what happened?”

Jordan shook his head, wiping at some of the blood on his face with the back of his hand. “Sophie called me at five thirty, saying Mir’s men were here. I came as fast as I could, but...” Jordan shook his head. “I barely got a glance at her before I was dealing with those mugs.” He waved in the general direction of the bodies, then frowned. “She didn’t look good, Peej. Her sleeve was soaked with blood, and she could hardly stand.”

This time, PJ did kick something. The railing, to be exact. It splintered the wood.

“I almost thought you were another of Mir’s men,” a woman’s voice said.

PJ turned to see a woman taller than he was standing in the doorframe.

“Speaking of, there’s one tied up in that room,” she nodded at a door, “if you wanted to ask him questions.”

“...Have we met?”

“No.” The woman crossed her arms. “You can call me Minx. I came here for Mary, but I caught the tail end of what happened.” She glanced down at Jordan, a flicker of what may have been begrudging respect passing over her face. Then she shook her head. “I’ve got this part taken care of, and I’ll get someone to take care of the bodies. If you want to leave with your man here and that unsavory fellow in tow, I’d suggest you go now.”

PJ looked at her for a long moment, then nodded curtly.

“Alright.”

Jordan slowly got to his feet, groaning and wincing as he moved. 

PJ sighed.

“Let’s get you taken care of. Last thing I need is to replace you.”

“Aww, thanks. I feel loved,” Jordan grumbled.

As PJ left with Jordan, leaving Mary in Minx’s care, the sun was still bright and the air still crisp, but an unshakeable cold had settled over everything.

He had a lot of questions to ask the man left alive.


End file.
